


The Garrison, Evil!Sam/Dean, NC-17

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Future Fic, Hurt Dean Winchester, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://sammessiah.livejournal.com/236202.html">Sammessiah Antichristmas 2011,</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garrison, Evil!Sam/Dean, NC-17

**Author's Note:**

> **The Garrison**  
>  **Title** : The Garrison  
>  **Author:** [](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/profile)[**meus_venator**](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Pairings/Characters:** Dean/Evil!Sam, Castiel/Evil!Sam  
>  **Word Count:** 5,200  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** Violence, non-con/torture, rape, slavery, implied non-con/dubcon, Dean whump and torture  
>  **Beta:**[](http://flawlessglitch.livejournal.com/profile)[ **flawlessglitch**](http://flawlessglitch.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Summary:** Written for [Sammessiah Antichristmas 2011,](http://sammessiah.livejournal.com/236202.html)  
>  **Prompt:** The warriors of Hell have captured an entire garrison of angels. Most of them will go on the rack. It will take time, but eventually Hell will have more powerful, fallen angel type demons fighting for them.
> 
> But one angel, with deep blue eyes catches the Unholy Consort's attention, and since the Boy King's birthday is coming up, he finally has the perfect gift.
> 
>  **WARNING:** This story is probably a little more grave and violent than sexy-kinky. Apologies to prompter if you hoped it’d be lighter.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural or the characters in the show I only torment them for fun.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** First posted fic every, (second written, it just got finished faster LOL). Be gentle dear readers.  
>  **Author’s Note 2** : Many thank yous to [](http://flawlessglitch.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://flawlessglitch.livejournal.com/)**flawlessglitch** who beta’d for me, her eagle eye, patience and understand made this fic 1000 times better than where it started.
> 
> Another big thank you to [](http://dante-s-hell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dante-s-hell.livejournal.com/)**dante_s_hell** for letting me bounce ideas around and encouraging and helping me along.
> 
> Lastly to [](http://reapertownusa.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://reapertownusa.livejournal.com/)**reapertownusa** who saw some small talent in my scribblings and encouraged me to write.
> 
> Any mistakes in this fic are mine alone, any grace you see is thanks to the efforts of these great people.
> 
>  

: : :

Commander Samuel Winchester stood on a hill, calmly overlooking the battlefield. They were somewhere south of what used to be Chicago in a crater-like, blackened field further spoiled by the events of the day. A miasma of blood, feathers and the noxious smells of spilt viscera floated in the air above the battleground. After his demonic legion smashed through their inner defenses, the end had come quite quickly, with the sudden surrender of the angels. His forces promptly surrounded and subdued the captured garrison. The angels were shown no mercy by the victors. They were demons after all, Sam mused.

His hound, crouched at his feet, nuzzled against his leg and Sam absently petted the soft head. His lieutenants gathered around him, awaiting instruction on the fates of the captured angels.

“Come boy.” Sam clucked his tongue and strode out to his troops, pulling on the silver braided leash. His lieutenants trailed along beside him, arguing the best course of action. Most counseled mercy for the prisoners. In the infinite fires of Hell, with just the right amount of torture, a turned angel could become a _fallen_ , an evil power to be reckoned with and could further strengthen the Commanders cause.

A legion of fallen at his beck and call might ensure Hell’s ultimate victory and Sam was loath to let that opportunity pass. But some, including General Vox, advised that an example was needed, some public display of punishment, a warning to the angel forces they battled, to show the demons were serious. This example would also act as a cautionary tale to the new captives that any further defiance would not be tolerated.

“Commander, after a glorious battle such as this, my men hunger for some entertainment. Surely we can spare a few odd angels and give our lads some fun? The spoils of war, as it were. You, of course, would have first pick, my Lord. There’s more than enough to go round and still fill our ranks. After all, it is nearly your birthday, sire,” the demon wheedled. “And you must be getting tired of your old plaything, it’s looking a bit tired around the edges.”

Vox’s voice was oily in Sam’s ear, the giant horned demon leaning on his axe as they paused closer to the troops.

Sam could hear the satisfying grunts and thuds of fists on flesh as his demons subdued and chained the last of the garrison, stripped them of their silvery armor. Rows upon rows of black winged angels stood manacled and bleeding, naked for his inspection. Sam looked dispassionately at the blood and twisted limbs, the half torn off wings and gouged flesh. His men had done well. The angels were not trivial opponents and they did deserve some sort of reward.

He yanked on the leash. His hound had been steadily falling farther and farther behind, reluctant to get close to the smell of blood and death on the field. Sam’s final yank brought it sprawling to his feet, shivering.

“I’ll take that under advisement, Vox, but you would do well to never speak badly of my pet, or you might find yourself in his place or worse.”

Vox’s gasped. “Of course, my liege, I meant no disrespect!” poured out quickly as the general backed slowly away from Sam. A brush of power tickled Vox's neck in warning.

“I must say though,” Sam mused aloud, “I like the idea of a new toy. Of course it can’t compare to my old one and would never replace it, but some new diversion would be entertaining. Don’t you think so, boy?” Sam ruffled his pet’s hair and crouched down where Dean was shuddering at Sam’s feet.

Dean knelt naked and bruised before the boy king. A collar of iron rode his neck leaving red gouges in the tender flesh, whip marks and bruising covered his back with older fainter scars from earlier beatings present. His eyes never left the ground as he shivered under Sam’s heated gaze.

Sam reached down and gently grasped his pet’s chin and pulled his face up so that he was looking directly into Dean’s eyes. Dean quickly dropped his lashes, gaze resolutely downward, not looking at Sam as he tried to control his panicked breathing.

Dean cursed himself for the hundredth, no, thousandth time. When would he finally become used to the fear and pain? How did his brother still manage to instill such terror in him at just a glance? He’d been hurt by him before, hell, he’d been tortured by him for years now since his rise to power, but why did it always feel like the first time, every time?

Dean wondered when that tiny flicker of hope for Sam’s salvation would finally gutter and die, then Dean would be free, free to disengage once and for all and hide away from what his brother had become.

“So baby, what do you think about a new plaything?” Sam cooed at Dean. Unbidden, Dean’s eyes flickered up at Sam in terror. Dean swallowed hard around the tight metal of the collar. He broke out into a cold sweat at the idea of another tortured soul up close and personal with Sam’s undivided attention.

Sam continued to caress Dean’s overlong hair and rub his jaw, tender for the moment. Sam’s power absently slid over Dean’s insides, and Dean felt not for the first time like his guts were made of gently rubbed fur, at least until Sam decided to squeeze.

“I think it’s a good idea, don’t you, pup?”

Dean froze, unwilling to aid and abet in another’s pain any more than he had to.

“I expect an answer, pup, you know the rules.” Sam grasped Dean’s collar in his hand and twisted up cruelly, shutting off Dean’s air and Dean gasped in pain.

He held Dean just long enough to have black edging his vision, before he finally released him, the warning clear. Dean lowered his head, whimpering in answer, gulping for air.

“We’ll call that your Switzerland response, Dean. I don’t think it’s quite as enthusiastic as I’d like, but we can discuss that later when we’re alone.”

At the threatening curl of power around his throat, Dean’s eyes slammed up into Sam’s face in fear, and he shivered again at the promise of pain.

“I’m going to leave it to you to choose, choose who we are going to play with tonight. And he’d better be entertaining, Dean, or the fun will come out of your hide. Now get to it, you’ve got five minutes.”

His hands laced tightly behind his back made it awkward to rise, but Dean teetered to his feet and, feeling more than a little lost, gazed at the lines of imprisoned angels herded together before him.

He trembled at the task set to him by Sam. A death sentence for some poor angel, no matter who he picked. Dean wasn’t sure he could do it, but he shuddered at the alternatives. Sam’s hands could…. As if reading his mind, Sam’s large hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality and Dean flinched.

“Pick or you stand in their stead, Dean. They are the next best thing to dead anyway, so don’t make me hurt you more than I already want to,” Sam whispered companionably in Dean’s ear, his fingers curled gently in Dean’s hair. “And it is nearly my birthday, baby, you want to pick something nice for your little brother?”

Dean huddled there in the shadow of Sam’s warmth, and tried to decide what to do, wondered when he had become such a coward. He should just tell Sam to stick it, that’s what pre-apocalypse Dean would have done, say, “Just stick it, Sam,” and then walk away. But Dean liked his insides on the inside too much and years of pain had made him cautious.

The jerk of his leash as he was hauled from Sam’s side made the decision for him as one of Sam’s favorite lieutenants, Grom, pulled him toward the captive angels.

At first Dean kept his eyes on the ground as they approached the defeated garrison out of guilt, but as they neared the battleground it became a necessity. The warm, squishy feel under his bare feet had his gorge rising as he carefully tried to avoid the worst of the blood and gore and dismembered body parts from both sides.

Then, suddenly, there they were. Rows upon rows of chained angels before him, bound for the torture tables of Hell, destined for ruin. Wasn’t Dean just making one angels trip faster? Maybe while it still had its grace? Would it be so terrible to choose just one, then?

Grom grabbed Dean’s shoulder and jerked him around toward the line of defeated angels and ordered, “Choose!” as he shoved Dean forward.

Dean couldn’t remember ever having seen so many angels before. His only acquaintance with them was as they were pulled before the Boy King and interrogated for whatever intelligence and troop movements they knew. Even as they were tortured and broken by Sam’s lieutenants, Dean always marveled at how otherworldly these creatures could be, how aloof they seemed. The angel’s inhuman remoteness so at odds with their mission to save humanity. Now, here they stood before him, shackled row upon row. The unearthly calm and silence of these heavenly beings a sharp contrast to the fierce and ruthless warriors he witnessed just hours ago as they battled Sam’s demon masses.

Dean glanced up at the first angel before him, and was still unprepared for the look of kindness and forgiveness in his eyes as he walked past. This must have been how Judas Iscariot felt looking at Jesus. A betrayer in their midst… But all Dean could see in their eyes was a gentle understanding vast as the oceans. He slowed as much as he could under Grom’s shoving advances and tried to remember each and every face, wanted to honor their memory before they were distorted and broken, turned into black eyed beings of darkness. They were fighting for earth’s survival and he at least owed them that. As he walked past face after face, he tried to decide how to choose, tried to decide if he would defy Sam after all. Tried to decide how much punishment he could endure.

“Dean…” the pain laced voice reached out to him among the solemn lines. Dean paused and looked for where the voice was coming from.

Two rows back, weaving more than the others, was a raven haired angel. Dean slipped through the ranks, stepped over the heavy chains and paused before the man.

“Dean, do you remember me?” the gravelly voice whispered. The angel looked up into Dean’s eyes, earnestly searching for a sign of recognition. Dean peered back at the dark haired angel. The cornflower blue eyes seemed to pierce his soul, so strangely familiar, but he didn’t know from where, from when.

“Do you not remember me, my friend? Speak to me, say something!” the sandpaper voice breathed out.

Grom chuckled behind Dean and the angel looked at him quizzically.

“Yeah, speak to him, Dean, tell him a story.”

“What is it? Have I done something wrong? Why won’t you speak to me?” the angel pleaded. He seemed about to teeter, blood leaked steadily down his side and Dean wished he had a hand free to steady the wounded man.

“Here, we’ll show ‘em what you’ve got to say,” Grom cheerfully offered, grabbing Dean’s head, his intent clear. Dean struggled, but the bearlike demon was over seven feet tall with scaly reptilian muscles to match and Dean’s human strength had no hope.

He tried to growl in anger and whip his head away, but Grom brutally forced his lips apart, the choked sob he uttered as Grom bared his latest humiliation to the wounded angel the only sound left to him since Sam, in a fit of rage, had cut out his tongue. The mangled stub left to him was incapable of anything more.

“Oh, Dean.” A world of suffering was in the angel’s voice as he surveyed the ruin that was Dean’s mouth. Grom chuckled cruelly. Dean shook off Grom’s loosened grip and used his shoulder to leverage the angel upright.

“Looks like you’ve made your choice there, Dean-o,” Grom announced and methodically began to unchain the angel’s feet. “Hope he lasts long enough to satisfy the Commander.”

Freed of the manacles, Grom hauled both the stumbling angel and Dean out from the lines of the chained and naked garrison and tossed them both carelessly at the feet of the waiting Commander. Dean’s mind whirled at his unwitting choice.

“Castiel,” Sam nodded solemnly at the fallen angel.

“Sam,” Castiel returned, his voice a low burr as he staggered to his feet, arms still chained together before him.

“What you do to your brother is blasphemy, Sam. Dean doesn’t deserve this.”

Sam started to laugh, a dark evil chuckle. He reached down and hauled the struggling Dean to his feet and ran a possessive hand across Dean’s chest, moved lower to grasp Dean’s cock in his hand.

“You don’t know what Dean deserves or needs.” Sam’s power thrummed through Dean and, to his shame, he felt himself began to harden in Sam’s grasp. He turned his head away from the angel, hiding.

“Interesting choice, Dean. Is there some part of you in there that still remembers our friend Cas, or is this just a happy coincidence?” Sam rubbed absently at Dean’s now interested cock and, with the other hand, turned Dean’s face so he could look into the bewildered, hurt eyes.

Dean shook his head no. Although the angel seemed strangely familiar, Dean didn’t remember him or how they might have met. Couldn’t remember a lot of things since he’d been in Sam’s power for so long. Sighing, Sam let Dean’s face go and Dean dropped his head to his chest in fear and frustration.

“Well then, time to go, boys. General, I leave the garrison in your good hands.” And with that, Dean suddenly found them in their suite.

: : :

The first angel fell to the ground with little notice, a passing guard kicked it as he walked by, but thought no more about it.

General Vox was already deep in thought as the Commander and his captives disappeared from the battleground. He was already planning out how best to deal with his new angel problem, coordinating the prisoners’ movements, torture schedules and troop furloughs. The thousand and one details that kept the demon horde battle ready.

The second angel to crumple to the ground went with little fanfare, just a quiet sigh, the black wings folded gently inward and a look of serenity on its face as it slipped to the blood soaked ground.

By the fourteenth angel, a cry went up from one of the demon guards.

“General, General! The angels, they’re...”

Vox looked up from his temporary field desk and watched in horror as angel after angel in random locations across the garrison’s ranks fell, like puppets with their strings cut.

“Don’t just stand there,” Vox boomed. “Get out there and see if they are still alive.”

Vox began to sweat.

: : :

Dean didn’t know where the suite was, it could have been any northern city in North America. Any city leveled by the war between the angels and demons that is, which, it seemed to Dean, was pretty much all of them. The suite was one of several that Sam had imprisoned Dean in over the last few years and like its predecessors before it, was pristine and soulless. The furniture was high end and luxurious, the finishes tasteful, a complete contrast to the shabby, second rate motels of their hunting life. But then, Sam wasn’t a hunter anymore, he was the demon commander and the neutron bomb like silence surrounding the hotel grounds bore witness to his complete dominion over the ruined lands. In the fading light, Dean could see the view outside its windows, blacked ash and destroyed and crumbling buildings surrounded them. This was the future Sam wanted for all of them. Trees twisted and burnt out like they’d been exposed to the fires of Hell itself, which maybe they had, a desolate, despairing view of a broken city. The view a reflection of the broken man standing before it.

“So, why don’t we all get comfortable, shall we?” Sam said to no one in particular.

“Position, Dean,” Sam snapped and Dean fell immediately to his knees, thighs spread, head bowed by the bed where they had appeared. Dean shivered and wondered when the screaming would officially start.

Sam leveraged Castiel over onto the bed, and unchained the half conscious man. An amused look entered into Sam’s eyes as he watched Cas bleed. Sam’s lip curled in distain and he reached out with one hand and caressed the angel’s chest. The look turned cruel as he viciously gouged a finger into a bleeding slash on Castiel’s pecs.

The angel jerked in pain as Sam’s fingers burrowed inside the vessel, digging around. Finally satisfied when Cas grunted in pain, Sam pulled his hand out of Castiel’s body and licked his bloody fingers.

“Hmm, always wanted to taste an angel. Now we’ll just have to get started on another kind of taste.” Sam’s voice was silky in Castiel’s ear as the angel looked up at him in a pain filled fog.

“Not so sure about your choice, Dean. Not sure that old Cas’ll make it through the night, but he’ll make it through this. Now why don’t you relax, Cas?” Sam’s power coiled around Cas and he found himself face down on the bed.

“Been wanting to do this for a long time, Cas, bust that angelic cherry of yours. Always knew you thought you were better than us, every time you‘d show up to bail us out of trouble, the angelic transporter to the rescue. All the while looking down your hallowed nose at these helpless, troublesome humans. Well, not so weak and human now, am I?”

Sam’s hands moved down Cas’s sides, roughly caressing the pale skin, skittering over the battle wounds, and painting lines with Cas’s own blood across the angel’s pale body in his travels. Impatient, he grabbed the grooves of Castiel’s hips and lifted him a bit further up the bed, positioning him better. The angel’s hands pinned above him by Sam’s power, his ass in the air.

“This is wrong, Sam.” Castiel’s grave voice came out muffled, his head forced into the covers.

“So what, I’ll go to Hell?” Sam smirked, unbuckling his belt and slowly tugging down his zipper over the already burgeoning bulge in his jeans. He leaned over, pressing his chest against the angel’s back, rotated his hips lewdly against his ass. He grabbed Castiel’s hair, and pulled his head back so he could look him in the face. “This is gonna hurt, Cas, I’ll make sure of it.”

Cas looked up into Sam’s hazel eyes and saw them flicker to black. As he turned his head away, he calmly said, “You may harm my vessel, boy, but you cannot touch my grace.”

“One thing at a time, Cas,” Sam vowed as he slipped his cock free of his jeans, fully hard now and, with no prep or preamble, shoved viciously into the angel.

Sam forced his way, grunting ‘til he was buried to the hilt, balls deep in the angel’s slim body. Dean heard the intake of Cas’s breath as Sam rammed home. The only other noise from Cas was his increased breathing as he endured Sam’s vicious rape. Dean turned his head from the scene on the bed and wished he was a million miles away, or could at least cover his ears, instead of caught helpless and kneeling as Sam continued his assault.

“Doesn’t seem like your vessel ever played this game before, Cas, seems a bit tight down there, but don’t worry I’ll make sure you’re loosened up.” Sam continued to slam into the angel, picking up speed as he chased his orgasm. Sam’s hands grasped the man’s slim hips in a vice like grip, his head flung back, a look of dark ecstasy on his face.

Dean could now hear a wet slapping sound as blood eased Sam’s passage and he shivered. He knew Sam could make this last for hours if he wanted to. Finally Sam let himself go and grunted out his release, spilling into the silent angel’s vessel with one last lunge.

Sam stood there, panting slightly, a crazed look in his flickering black eyes as he surveyed the defiled man. Pulling out harshly with a wet plopping sound, Sam sighed slightly and slapped Castiel on the ass as he turned him over. Zipping himself up and tucking in his shirt, Sam surveyed the man’s sweat covered face, and sneered at what he saw.

“Nice ride, next time we play we’ll have to force out those wings, get a real handful of those. Oh, don’t worry, Dean,” Sam glanced over at Dean’s bowed figure. Dean’s hopes to go unnoticed dashed with Sam’s next words. “The night is young, and I haven’t forgotten about you, dear brother.”

Sam smoothed his hair and casually turned toward the bar. He continued to talk as he mixed himself a drink, his back to the two men. “So Cas, enough about us for a while, let’s talk shop. Tell me, how are things going on your side, do you think? ‘Cause from what I can see, your forces aren’t doing so well.”

Dean risked a glance up as Sam chatted to see Castiel stand up silently and with much more strength than previously from the bed. Dean’s eyes widened as Castiel, with a grimace and twist of his neck, reached to his side where one particularly bloody cut dripped steadily, and slowly pulled something from the wound. The soft suction of his angelic sword as it exited his body was the only sound to give away his actions away.

Castiel strode silently over toward Sam, sword in hand, only limping slightly. His slight frame dwarfed by Sam’s giant mass at the bar.

Sensing something, Sam turned. His tilted fox eyes blinked in surprise at the sight of the bloody angel poised before him.

“Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Cas?” Sam spoke softly, but Dean could feel the power curl around him.

“Yes, I am, Sam.” Castiel’s deadpan voice carried loudly in the room.

Raising his arm before him, Sam slammed Castiel into the wall and held him there with his power. The angel’s sword clattered uselessly to the carpeted floor.

“Not such a smart move, Castiel,” Sam said calmly.

“We shall see, Sam,” Castiel choked back, Sam cutting off the angel’s air with a thought.

Suddenly a beam of white light enveloped the room, flooding through the ceiling as if the roof had been torn off the building and a direct pipeline of pure white heavenly light was directed squarely at Castiel’s body.

From the surprised look on Sam’s face, Dean didn’t think this was any of his doing. The angel screamed in agony as the light seemed to gain strength around him, encasing him in a glowing ball, turning his skin translucent. He saw Castiel’s eye slam open, pure white light flooding out of them. Then the color in the room bled out until Dean was forced to look away. He sensed a different kind of power fill the suite and when the light peaked in a sudden explosive flash, he felt consciousness fade.

When Dean came to, his head ached and his ears rang. Cas was hanging limp where Sam still pinned him to the wall. As Dean tried to lurch back onto his knees, a quick glance confirmed that Sam seemed completely unaffected by the blast.

“Now what was that, I wonder?” Sam pondered aloud as he walked closer to the unconscious angel. He sniffed the air and tilted his head slightly, as he regarded Castiel carefully.

“Looks like our boy here got a power-up. Isn’t that right, Cas?”

Cas’s bloody head lifted up from where it had dropped to his chest and his eyes glowed white.

The angel seemed to hover away from the wall and hang in mid-air, a rush of energy surrounding him. With a flick of his wrist, Castiel’s sword snapped back into his hands.

“Your time is over, Sam.” Castiel’s voice seemed to fill the room.

Sam flung his hand up and Dean could feel answering power directed at Castiel. The air crackled as the two men faced off against each other. Cas was flung back slightly, but with a return volley, Dean was astonished to see Sam stagger back, his mouth suddenly bloody.

Sam grinned, fierce and feral, and with a gesture, returned fire. The two continued to battle, furniture flew and bodies were flung and smashed into the suites walls. Dean scooted back as far as he could into the corner and huddled to await the outcome.

It soon became apparent that whatever mojo Cas had channeled might actually be stronger than Sam’s. Under Castiel’s relentless assault, Sam began to stagger and trip, retreating further back into the room.

The naked angel advanced on Sam, a white pulsing light surrounding him now.

Sam sent one last burst of power at Castiel but he seemed to shrug it off easily and moved closer. Sam leapt at him and tried through sheer physical mass to overpower him.

Dean could hear battering at the suite door, but somehow Castiel was also keeping the other demons at bay.

The two men rolled on the suite floor, Sam’s fists raised, Cas’s smaller frame hidden completely by Sam’s larger one. They continued to struggle. Another burst of power had Dean’s hair practically standing on end and he heard an exhausted grunt of pain.

Sam’s body lurched up and froze, a gasp left his lips. The next thing Dean saw was Castiel as he shoved out from under Sam’s body. Sam rolled over and landed on his back, the angelic sword buried hilt deep in his chest. Cas staggered to his feet and the unearthly glow started to dim from around the angel. The banging on the door, as the Commander’s loyal forces tried to force their way in, grew louder, as if Cas’s power had previously muffled the sound.

Dean froze for a moment, a stunned look on his face, his mind unable to comprehend this outcome. Unable to imagine his brother’s defeat at anyone’s, let alone an angel’s, hands.

Snapping back to reality, Dean lurched to his feet and threw himself, hysterical, at his brother-abuser. Hands still bound, Dean could only kneel beside the bleeding man, keening at the sight. Dean was torn. The man had been his captor for years. He’d manipulated his thoughts, erased large parts of his memories, tortured him, and raped him, treated him worse than any animal. But there was also that stubborn part of Dean that hoped he could one day save Sam, bring him back to the good guys. Images raced through his head as he knelt there in shock. Images of a young Sammy, still chubby with baby fat running into Dean’s arms, Sam laughing, dimples showing at the end of a successful hunt, Sam’s face when they learned of Dad’s death. A million Sammy memories, both happy and brutal, zipped by at the speed of light. Sam was so much a part of Dean it felt like Dean lay dying there beside him. It couldn’t end this way.

Cas moved in closer, sword poised for the final death blow until Dean’s strangled garble stopped him.

Tears poured down Dean’s face. Cas, Cas couldn’t, shouldn’t, oh, god, no, not his baby brother…

Dean sobbed wretchedly, helpless to stop him from finishing Sam off.

Sam floundered on his back, grasping his spilled guts curiously and turned to look at Dean.

“Dean?” The small, scared voice reminded Dean of the Sam he knew, the Sam he grew up with, not the cruel monster who had been his master for far too long. He nodded reassuringly at Sam in response, and watched as Sam slipped into unconscious. Dean’s complete and utter panic only assuaged by the continued rise and fall of Sam’s chest. Sam was still alive.

Dean looked pleadingly at Cas, shaking his head desperately, there had to be another way.

Cas paused and cocked his head sideways, looking at Dean. “Are you sure, Dean?” He answered the unspoken request. “The fate of the world could well lie in the balance,” the rough voice intoned.

Dean nodded sadly. He knew what was at stake, but Sam was still his baby brother, still his blood. Evil or not, he couldn’t stand by and just watch him die. There had to still be some hope.

“Very well then,” Cas replied softly and knelt down beside the boy king. He pulled out the sword and placed his hand over the gaping wound. A white glow bathed Sam’s chest, healing. The hand moved gently then and paused over Sam’s head, the soft glow returned and Cas nodded, satisfied, to himself. After a moment, he rose to his feet. Behind him the suite doors were starting to buckle under the demons determined advances.

“He will survive. Let’s go, Dean.”

Dean looked up at him in surprise.

Castiel walked over and helped Dean to his feet. He turned him around and unlaced the long gloved restraints that held Dean’s arms together behind his back.

“It wasn't for Sam that we came, Dean, it was for you. The capture of the garrison, your choosing me, it was all part of our plan to get you away from Sam. You are the one we want. You are the one we need.”

Dean shook his head bewildered. No, not him, he wasn’t worthy. He… he...

“It’s alright, Dean, you are the one. The righteous man will lead them. That is you, it was always you. And Heaven needs you to lead this war.”

Castiel looked at Dean again carefully, hearing the unspoken question.

“The garrison sacrificed itself as soon as we left. They sent their grace to me to aid in Sam’s defeat. Mine alone was no match for the power your brother wields. He is a considerable foe.”

Castiel’s gentle hands reached out and held Dean’s face. The warm light, a mere echo of the power Castiel had formerly wielded, emanated from his palms. In the healing glow, Dean felt not only his tongue rebuild and repair itself, but the broken pieces of his mind.

Released from Castiel’s grasp, he held his friend’s hands shakily and said, “Cas… I remember, I remember it all now.” Dean glanced around and looked at Sam’s prone body. “Sammy?” he asked.

Cas shook his head sadly. “He can’t come with us now, Dean, but one day you will have your little brother back again. Once the war is over.”

Dean looked over at the unconscious Sam, nodding to himself. A promise made.

“Once the war is over.”

**FIN**

_Comments Always Welcome_


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